


I Need a Little Love to Ease the Pain

by babykid528



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Crying, Dom!Idris, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink, Sensual Dom/sub, Sub!Chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is painfully pining after Zach. Idris steps in to help him forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need a Little Love to Ease the Pain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semperama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/gifts).



> This fic came about because of the Idris/Chris video all over tumblr AND because of Semper's prompt: _Chris is broken up over Zach being in love with someone else, and Idris picks up on it and is super sweet to him. Teasing and flirting and all the pet names in that beautiful accent._
> 
> The angst got a little out of hand here, but that just makes the praise and comfort that much sweeter, right? ;-)
> 
> Extra special thanks to Semper who beta'd her own present, lol! YOU ARE THE BEST AND I LOVE YOU!!!! <333333
> 
> Title from Massive Attack's "Dissolved Girl."

He can’t stop himself. No matter how hard he tries, Chris can’t keep his eyes off of Zach for more than a few seconds. It’s like he has some kind of disease.

_You do, you idiot,_ a voice in his head that sounds exactly like Katie’s unhelpfully supplies. _You’re fucking pining after your fucking best friend_.

He wants to reassure himself, tell the Katie in his head that she’s talking bullshit and it’s not true. He just sighs and takes another swig of his drink instead.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Chris is embarrassingly startled at the sound of Idris’ voice.

He glances over, sees Idris has sidled up close beside him, and he knows he’s been found out.

“I would usually lie and say I’m not thinking about anything but drinking, right now,” he tells him, resigned and not a little exhausted. “But we both know that’s not true, apparently.”

Idris seems impressed with that answer and he slides a little closer, places his own glass on the small, high table Chris has been leaning on, and he purses his lips.

“All I know,” he says, soft voice pitched low, “is you look like you could use a distraction.”

Idris’ mouth is so close to his temple, Chris can feel his hair stirring with his warm breath.

He blinks at the offer and almost fumbles his glass just as he’s about to take another sip. Idris reaches out though, wraps his warm fingers around Chris’ cold ones, and steadies his grip.

Neither one of them says anything for what feels like ages. They just stand there, staring. Looking for something in one another that they can’t seem to ask out loud. Then Chris nods, acquiesces to whatever it is Idris is offering, and Idris smiles. A warm, sweet smile that makes Chris’ heart ache.

Idris breaks off first, leading the way through the crowd. Chris takes a fortifying breath and darts his eyes around the room, one last time. He catches Zach staring back at him, the first time tonight. Miles is beside him, laughing at something Anton is saying. Zach doesn’t look like he’s laughing though. He looks like he has forgotten how to ever laugh again.

Chris frees himself from his gaze and turns away without looking back.

The spiteful voice in his head that says, _Serves him right,_ isn’t Katie. It’s definitely all him.

Idris is waiting right out front in the back of one of the town cars the studio hired to escort them around during their stay in Vancouver. Chris doesn’t even hesitate before pulling the door open and entering the car. He’s too tired to second-guess anything right now.

Idris gives the address of the house Chris has been calling home while they film and Chris is thankful they’ll be doing this in his space. Maybe the echoes of lost chances won’t have anywhere to reverberate anymore if he fills the house with Idris’ and his moans. He sighs at the thought, leans back into the seat, and closes his eyes.

He’s too wired to sleep, too wired to speak.

_Too heart broken._

Goddamn that fucking Katie voice again!

Idris touches him, fingers firm as they brush against the inside of Chris’ arm, and Chris shivers.

He opens his eyes with considerable effort and focuses on that spot of connection. The car is dark, the only light the passing business marquees and streetlights. The fleeting glow they cast highlights the path of Idris’ fingers rubbing circles on his skin. When Chris looks up at Idris’ face, his eyes look bright. Even in the dark. There’s a warmth in them, magnified since leaving the club. Chris is amazed at how much darker the shade of brown is than Zach’s. Zach’s eyes have always seemed so much colder.

They don’t speak the entire car ride, just stare. When they get to Chris’ place, Idris waits for Chris to break contact first before exiting the car.

Chris opens the front door in the retreating flood of headlights as the town car pulls out of the driveway. He moves inside, trusts Idris is still behind him, and drops the keys in the bowl on the small table in the hall. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on, just makes his way through the house to the bedroom.

He sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

Idris takes his time, probably so his eyes can adjust to the lack of light, but he doesn’t keep Chris waiting too long.

When he flips the light on as he enters the bedroom, Chris winces.

Idris cuts him off before he can protest.

“We’re not doing this in the dark, Chris,” he says.

At that tone, Chris swallows the words he would have said. He shivers again, untouched this time. A full body shiver.

“What exactly are we doing?” he asks, cautious.

He’s not afraid, not by a long shot. He just needs to be sure they’re on the same page about what’s happening here.

Idris gives him a scrutinizing look before he moves closer. His movements are all fluid and grace. His body is all power. While they trained together for the movie, and while they film the choreographed fight scenes during their days on set, Chris has seen the things Idris can do, the lengths he can go, taxing his body. Chris has never seen him hit his breaking point though, not even after over six hours of physical shots and workouts, and that knowledge makes his mouth go dry.

Chris spreads his legs wider, the closer Idris comes. When Idris is close enough to touch, he reaches out and pushes his fingers into Chris’ hair without asking permission. He pets Chris a few times before gripping Chris’ hair in his fist and tugging. Chris gasps, arches his back, and leans into the touch.

“I’m going to help you forget some things,” Idris promises. “At least for the night.”

Chris sucks in a sharp breath and releases it on a hiss, and Idris tightens his hold.

“Does that sound good?” Idris asks.

Chris can’t find words, his mouth is like a desert. He nods though, groaning at the ache it causes his scalp.

Idris nods too.

“Good,” he says. “Now strip and get on all fours on the bed.”

“Okay,” Chris manages to gasp as Idris releases his hair. He bites back the _sir_ that threatens to escape and stands in the little space Idris has left between them so he can do as he’s been told.

He makes short work of getting his clothes off, tossing them toward the hamper by the en suite bathroom, before climbing onto the bed.

He positions himself on his hands and knees, across the width, and lets his head fall forward.

Idris watches him. Chris can feel his eyes on him, like a physical touch. His nerves tingle from head to toe and back again. A wave-like, imagined caress. Followed by the soft press of fingertips to his spine, swiping upward as Idris slowly steps around the corner of the bed.

He drags his fingers from Chris’ shoulder, up his neck, and stops them at the curve of Chris’ jaw. He taps under Chris’ chin, urging his head back up, and cups his cheek when Chris makes eye contact.

“You would do anything I told you to do right now.”

It’s not a question. They both know it’s true. It should scare Chris, that Idris knows, that he’s let himself reach this point. This isn’t safe. Part of him knows, no matter how cool, how _good_ a man Idris has been since the day they met, he knows that means shit. They don’t know one another, not like this.

Idris’ eyes are still so warm though. Warmer now, somehow. Chris can almost see himself reflected in them. The desperation and the need understood.

Idris could break him. Beyond repair.

Instead, he caresses his thumb across Chris’ cheek, tilts his head up a little further, and leans down to press a kiss to Chris’ forehead, lips lingering when he’s finished.

“How did you get to this point,” he whispers against Chris’ skin.

Chris swallows thickly, fighting the tightness squeezing at the back of his throat, the sudden burning prick at the back of his eyes.

Idris leans back just far enough to look in Chris’ eyes again.

“What do you need?” he asks.

Chris blinks rapidly, the knot building in his throat, as he shakes his head.

“I don’t…”

He can’t finish the sentences though.

Idris drags his palm across his skin and cards his fingers through Chris’ hair again.

“I can be mean if you need me to be,” he says. “I don’t want to be. I don’t think it will really help, but I could be wrong. So it’s up to you. Whatever you need.”

Chris’ eyes sting and he squeezes them shut, gasping around the thick feelings choking him.

“Do you need me to be mean, Chris?” Idris asks.

Chris shakes his head, worried anything else might dislodge the tears he’s losing the battle against.

“Okay,” Idris soothes, fingers still stroking through his hair. “Okay.”

He leans close again, Chris can feel him shift, and then there are lips pressed to his, and Chris gasps out a little sob.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Idris mumbles against Chris’ mouth, and Chris leans toward him, seeking more as the hurt pulsing in his veins threatens to burn him from the inside out.

Idris trails kisses from Chris’ mouth, along his jaw, up to his temple. He lingers there, lips against Chris’ skin, hot breath making Chris sweat and shake.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats.

Chris whines, broken and needy, and when Idris takes a step back, Chris sways forward, in an attempt to follow him. His eyes are blurry when he reopens them, searching for Idris. He catches a glimpse of him stepping back around the bed corner before he’s out of sight. When he’s back in view, he’s got a condom in one hand and a small bottle of lube in the other.

“We’re going to need these,” he says.

Chris exhales, surprisingly relieved that Idris isn’t ending everything before it’s even begun.

“Chris,” he says, dropping the supplies on the bed before taking Chris’ face in both his hands.

Chris groans out a reply, leaning into the touch.

“I’ve still got you,” Idris reassures, pressing another kiss to his other temple, before leaning back again.

“I want you to drop down to your elbows,” Idris tells him, holding eye contact while he gives his orders. “But keep that ass in the air.”

Chris nods through the head-rush those words cause, and does as he’s been told.

“Good boy,” Idris says, voice more sincere than anything Chris has ever heard before. His cock twitches where it hangs, half-hard and getting harder.

“Very good boy,” Idris amends, clearly pleased with the affect he’s having.

“Idris…” Chris whines his name.

He feels helpless. Helpless and needy and so damn exposed. Idris’ touch burns and soothes in equal measure, and Chris both fears and desires being consumed by that feeling.

“I want you to suck my cock, Chris,” Idris says. “Will you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Chris’ reply is instantaneous.

“Good,” Idris tells him before taking his hands off Chris to undo his belt and jeans.

Chris watches, face close, mouth watering. It’s obscene, he feels obscene, and he blushes hot as his heart rate picks up.

Idris pulls his hard cock out, pushes his shorts and jeans down low on his thighs, and he strokes himself a few times in his big fist. Chris whimpers, desperate and uncaring that he’s being so obvious about it. His brain is buzzing, endorphins taking over his more rational thoughts.

Idris leans forward then, shifting from the hips, and runs the head of his cock across Chris’ lips. Chris opens his mouth for him, looks up through his lashes, and darts his tongue out to taste. Idris gasps, a soft choking breath, and pushes into Chris’ mouth.

Chris clutches at the sheets beneath him, breathing a ragged breath out his nose as he swallows Idris down.

“Fuck,” Idris gasps when he’s in as far as Chris can take.

Chris swallows around him and Idris grips at his hair, canting a little deeper as he moans.

“Chris,” he sighs, voice almost reverent. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

Chris whines around his mouthful at the praise, and feels tremble. He reaches out his free hand and rubs Chris’ cheek, feels himself hard beneath Chris’ skin, and Chris moans around him.

“You’re so good,” Idris says, drawing back just a fraction before pushing in again. “So very good.”

Chris swallows, head swimming with the praise, free-floating toward that coveted bliss. He reaches his fingers out toward Idris’ legs, brushes the tips across his bunched jeans, and hangs on, holding Idris close before urging him back again.

Idris picks up on the cue and begins fucking Chris’ welcoming mouth. He shutters out ragged breaths in counterpoint to Chris’ own, loud nose-breathing. The chorus of breathing is broken every so often by soft declarative praises while Idris strokes Chris’ cheek and scalp.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Idris chants and Chris lets himself be held in place while Idris pulls his cock back out of his mouth with an obscene pop.

He takes his hand off Chris’ face to squeeze the base of his cock as he tries to calm his labored breathing.

“I almost came,” he explains.

Chris’ floaty thoughts can’t piece together why that would be something he’d want to prevent. His confusion must be apparent because Idris steps in close again.

“I want to fuck that ass you’ve been displaying for me,” he explains and Chris lets out a long, pleading moan.

Chris buries his face in the sheets and listens as Idris moves around the room. The bed dips a few moments later and the heat of Idris’ body radiates against Chris’ chilled skin as he slots himself between Chris’ spread knees.

“Christopher,” Idris sighs, and he sounds exactly like Zach for a moment.

Chris tenses, panicked by that thought, and Idris rushes to cover him. Pushes his fingers back into Chris’ hair and pulls, arching him painfully backwards.

“Shhh shh, no don’t,” he soothes. “Sweetheart, I’ve still got you. It’s me. I’m with you, Chris.”

He whispers the words into the nape of Chris’ neck and the meat of his shoulder, holding him tightly until the tension seeps back out.

“You can fall, darling,” he promises. “I’ll catch you. I’m here to catch you.”

And Chris slips back under, breath evening out as he shakes.

“Idris,” Chris says his name like it’s a promise and Idris presses one last sucking kiss to the side of Chris’ neck.

He leans back and Chris misses the weight of him. But he can hear the lube open and close before a cool, slick finger is rubbing at his ass, pressing into him with equal measures care and deliberateness. A second finger joins the first quickly. And then a third.

“I’m going to fuck you until I come inside you, sweetheart,” Idris promises, stretching Chris open.

Chris trembles a little more with each word, until Idris calls him sweetheart again, and then he groans, loud and helpless.

“You like that don’t you,” Idris says. “The way I baby you while splitting you open.”

“Fuck,” Chris gasps.

“Am I right, Chris?” Idris asks.

Chris nods, frantically, and swears up and down that he is absolutely right.

“You’re such a good boy for me,” Idris says, tone firm but full of fondness.

“Please,” Chris whines, pushing back on Idris’ fingers. “I need…”

“I know,” Idris promises. “I know what you need.”

When he removes his fingers, Chris lets out a low whimper. It’s followed by the sound of the condom packet tearing, then a sharp, stuttering intake of breath from Chris as Idris lines his cock up and pushes into him, hands braced tightly on Chris’ hips.

Chris moans, long and broken, while Idris slowly fills him up. Idris holds still when he bottoms out, hips pressed tightly to Chris’ ass, chest curved over his back. Chris chokes out a sob, feeling almost too full, and Idris begins to move.

“Fuck, you feel amazing, Chris,” Idris whispers in the air above Chris’ shoulders as he fucks into him, again and again.

Chris mewls and cries out with each of Idris’ grunting thrusts. He presses his face into the sheets, clutches them in white-knuckled fists, and wills himself to float away. Everything feels too good, too much. And his heart aches. It aches. Has been aching for years.

Idris’ hand on his cock is Chris’ undoing.

With every thrust, Idris tugs tightly as his bobbing cock, and Chris shakes apart beneath him. Moaning cries turning to dizzying sobs. Real sobs. Chris’ cheeks are wet as he raggedly gasps and shouts into the bed, cotton muffling whatever pained prayer or penance he’s offering up to whatever god he thinks might care.

Idris squeezes his cock and hip harder, thrusts in with a little more force, and arches his body over Chris’ a little more sharply. It changes the angle of his thrusts, brushes his cock directly against Chris’ prostate, and Chris comes before he can even call out.

Idris gasps but continues to fuck Chris through it, pushing himself toward his own release. His labored breathing some kind of strange comfort as he continues to jerk Chris’ too sensitive cock.

Chris can feel Idris’ climax build, feel the tension in his thigh muscles, pressing against Chris’ own. He can feel him go completely rigid, as he shouts out his release.

When he finishes, he lets go of Chris and carefully pulls out of him.

When he leaves the bed, Chris stays where he is, unable to move. He feels empty in ways he’s never felt before. He wishes Idris would come back.

When he does return, it’s with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans Chris up, petting Chris’ sides and back and whispering sweet things at him.

He leaves again, probably to discard the soiled cloth. The bed dips soon after though, and arms wrap around Chris, gently pulling him onto his side.

Idris spoons up against his back, presses his soft cock against Chris’ ass, and holds him tightly to his chest. He brushes soothing circles against Chris’ chest with his fingers and presses his mouth chastely to Chris’ neck.

“I’ve still got you,” he promises.

Chris shakes his head, not entirely sure what he’s protesting.

Idris just nods against his back, humming softly and petting him until he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
